


sweet disposition.

by rachelbee



Series: Weekly Challenge [7]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelbee/pseuds/rachelbee
Summary: Week 7! Lucy and Wyatt share a bed (again) and things happen.





	sweet disposition.

**Author's Note:**

> Legitimately almost did not post this because how can you compete with OnceUponAWhim's work? Or MISSYRiver's? Honestly, I'm just happy to be here. But, I've still never missed a prompt (even though this is hours late, but cut me some slack - work was rough today). 
> 
> This was another prompt that basically wrote itself, and that's what made it harder. I feel like Wyatt might be slightly OOC towards the end (and I blame myself for writing too much of married!Wyatt in my other fic), so sorry about that if that is the case. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it! :)

It was truly baffling how often Lucy found herself in these situations.

She lay stiff as a board, her head turning slightly to peer over at Wyatt, sound asleep, snoring softly. When she was certain he wouldn’t wake up, she turned her head a little more, her body moving with her, until she was turned completely on her side, her hands tucked under her head, blatantly staring at a sleeping Wyatt.

How did she get here?

Because, despite all of her brains and knowledge, Lucy was the biggest klutz in the universe.

After a particularly stressful mission that included Lucy having to fight her own way out of a sticky situation as Wyatt and Rufus fought to get to her, Wyatt had driven them back to his place and decided they were drinking. Normally, they would have headed to their regular bar, but Rufus had plans with Jiya. Lucy plopped down on the couch she’d been sleeping on for the past month, since her mother had revealed she was Rittenhouse and Lucy no longer felt safe sleeping in the same building as her.

Wyatt had made his way straight to the kitchen as Lucy kicked her shoes off and curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over her. She heard the distinct pop of a wine cork, followed by liquid sloshing into a glass. She sat up, her ears perking up as Wyatt poked his head out from the kitchen.

“Just because Rufus can’t join us doesn’t mean we shouldn’t drink. You want a glass of wine?” he asked, holding a glass of her favorite red wine. She nodded immediately and he chuckled, handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully before taking a generous sip. Wyatt disappeared back into the kitchen and cracked open a beer. He joined Lucy on the couch, the wine bottle in hand because he knew that she’d be done with that glass in a minute.

“Alright,” he muttered, reaching his hand out as he scooted closer to her. Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she hugged her glass of wine to her chest and Wyatt laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m not taking your wine, relax. Let me see your hand,” he urged, and Lucy shook her head, wincing.

“No, Wyatt, it’s fine.” She took another sip of her wine, and the glass was almost empty at this point. Wyatt sighed, his hand still held out. “I promise, my hand is totally fine,” Lucy insisted. “I just can’t move it.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow at her.

“But, you can hold a glass of wine,” he pointed out, and Lucy smirked, raising her glass a little higher before downing the rest of it.

“This isn’t my hurt hand,” she whispered, holding her glass out with a grin. Wyatt rolled his eyes but reached over for the bottle and poured her another glass.

“So, you admit your hand is hurt,” he muttered, smirking at her. Lucy fixed him with an exasperated look and he sighed, reaching his hand out again. “Luce, come on, just let me see your hand.” His voice was soft, and his eyes were bright, and Lucy didn’t really want to say no if it meant Wyatt was basically going to hold her hand. She relented, placing her hurt hand in his and trying not to gasp every time his fingers brushed over a small bruise on her knuckles.

“How’s it look, doc?” she teased him, taking another sip of wine. Wyatt chuckled, turning her hand over in both of his. “Do we need to amputate?”

“No, Miss Preston, I think you’ll be just fine,” he breathed, letting her hand go, and she tried to ignore the disappointment and the fact that she missed the warmth from his hand. She put her glass of wine down on the table, thinking that she’d probably had enough.

Or, she thought she’d made it to the table. 

She’d apparently barely cleared the couch because the glass fell from her hands as she reached over to the table and spilled deep red liquid all over the cushion she was sitting on. The glass fell to the floor, breaking into three large pieces, all the wine having made it onto the couch and not on the carpet. Wyatt stood up immediately as Lucy just sat there, her hands raised in surprise.

“Oh my gosh, Wyatt, I’m so sorry,” she babbled as Wyatt gently pulled her up from the couch, a worried frown etched into his face. She looked up at him as his hands gripped her arms and he looked her up and down.

“Are you okay? Did any of it break on you?” he asked, worried, and Lucy quickly shook her head, pointing at the glass on the floor.

“No, it’s all there. Help me get the cushion off of the couch,” Lucy instructed, springing into action. Wyatt frowned at her but helped her move the pillows off of the couch and pull the cover off of the cushion. “Okay, if I put some stain remover on this and throw it in the wash now, it should be fine.”

Lucy hurried down the hall to the washer as Wyatt carefully picked up the broken wine glass pieces, wrapping them in a paper towel and quickly disposing of them in the kitchen. He walked back out into the living room, frowning down at the couch. He couldn’t let her sleep there, now.

Lucy shuffled back into the room, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide. Wyatt looked up, already shaking his head.

“Luce, it’s no problem. It wasn’t your fault, and it didn’t even get on the carpet,” Wyatt insisted, gesturing to the clean carpet. Lucy nodded, biting her lip and he quickly wrapped her in a hug, kissing her hair as she buried her face in his chest. “It’s fine, Lucy, don’t worry about it,” he whispered.

“Sorry,” she mumbled into his shirt and he pulled back to look down at her. “I think I’m just tired,” she explained, tucking her hair behind her ears and heading to the couch. Wyatt turned to watch her try to squish herself onto the one cushion on the couch now, shaking his head.

“Luce, come on, you can sleep in my bed tonight,” he gently urged, taking her hand and pulling her up from her squished position. She frowned up at him.

“Where are _you_ going to sleep?” she asked softly. Wyatt shrugged, pulling her with him into his room.

“I’ll sleep in the bed, too,” he muttered, dropping her hand to pull back the covers and gestured for her to climb in. Lucy looked down and realized she was still dressed in her clothes. Wyatt had worn sweats to Mason Industries that morning, which now hung low on his hips.

“I should change first,” she muttered, looking back up at Wyatt, biting her lip. Wyatt shrugged, feigning indifference as he climbed into his side of the bed. Lucy headed back out to the living room to grab her pajamas and he heard her disappear into the bathroom a few minutes later.

Wyatt glanced at the space next to him, smiling softly when he realized that space would be filled tonight. He and Jess had never lived together in this apartment; he’d moved in well after her death. He hadn’t shared a bed with another woman, though, except Lucy during their mission in 1934. He lay back in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he recalled that particular instance.

It seemed so long ago, but it had really only been a couple months, maybe. He hadn’t tried to save Jess yet, had still been hung up on her death, had just told Bonnie and Clyde the story of how he’d proposed to her then kissed Lucy. Wyatt allowed a small smile to form on his lips as he focused on that memory. Kissing Lucy hadn’t been a part of the plan; he’d said as much before they’d gone into the cabin.

Falling for Lucy hadn’t been a part of the plan, either, and yet, here he was. A thrill of anticipation ran through him as he heard the bathroom door creak open and the soft pitter-patter of her bare feet from his bathroom to his bedroom.

He turned toward her and smiled as she rubbed her eyes sleepily before climbing under the covers, rolling onto her side, facing him. He smiled softly down at her and turned his body toward her as well.

“You okay?” he whispered, worried about ruining the moment as she stared up at him, her eyes soft. She nodded, her head jostling the pillow they nearly shared. Her eyelids drooped and he huffed a soft laugh as he realized she was exhausted. She needed to rest. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and Lucy quickly followed suit, lest she be caught admiring his profile. “Get some sleep, okay?” he whispered as he turned out the light.

She’d tried. Really.

She had rolled back over, facing the door now, her back to Wyatt who’d fallen asleep rather quickly. She had closed her eyes, tried to will sleep to come, as she’d wanted so badly only moments ago. Every time she closed her eyes, though, she was back in that room with those men grabbing her wrists and pulling her closer to the Mothership, Emma standing in the doorway, watching.

She reared her arm back, making a fist, and every time her fist connected with one man’s face, her eyes snapped open and she began breathing heavily.

So, she’d rolled over, stared at the ceiling, and wondered how she’d gotten here.

The bed wasn’t nearly as small as the one from 1934, but the proximity of Wyatt’s body to hers had the same staggering effect, and she fought the urge to reach out and brush the few strands of hair that had fallen in his face. She lay there, watching him, and a sense of calm stole through her as her eyelids drooped, and she sighed contentedly as she finally fell asleep.

* * *

It was dark.

Lucy looked around wildly, trying to figure out where she was. She could hear the faint sound of labored breathing, and Lucy fought through the sluggish darkness, trying to find the source.

Emma’s laughter filled her ears all of a sudden, and Lucy grit her teeth, pushing through the darkness, her hands held out in front of her, trying to find her way.

“Lucy.”

She spun around, his name on her lips as she found him, under a bright light, on the ground. Her feet moved faster than she knew was possible and she collapsed on her knees beside him, her eyes wandering his body. There was a _hole_ in him, gaping and bleeding profusely. She quickly rushed to stop the bleeding, pressing the skirt of her dress into the wound, trying to reassure Wyatt as he slowly bled out from under her.

Rufus was nowhere to be found, and all she could hear now was Emma’s laughter, growing louder in her ear as Wyatt’s bright blue eyes slowly dimmed as he frowned softly up at her.

She cried out, watching as her tears dripped onto his face, fiercely pressing her skirt to the wound.

She felt his heart stop.

He was gone.

Stunned, Lucy sat back on her heels and hung her head, her body quaking with sobs. Emma’s laughter was gone, Wyatt’s heartbeat gone with it.

“Lucy,” a voice whispered, far away. She sobbed harder, and arms encircled her. She lashed out, trying to fight them off. Wyatt was fading away and she fought whoever was holding onto her, clawing at them, trying to get back to Wyatt.

“ _Lucy!_ ”

Lucy’s eyes snapped open as she tried to catch her breath. The moisture on her face was a stark reminder to what she’d just dreamt and she felt the hands holding her loosen. She turned in Wyatt’s arms, gasping for breath. He was frowning down at her, clearly worried. She had tried so hard to not show him her weak side, the side that had a panic attack every time she closed her eyes because she was just that _terrified_ of losing her team.

Sometimes, it was Rufus that bled out from under her hands, and sometimes it was Amy standing over her as her team died, telling her she should have never climbed into that time machine. Most nights now, though, it was Wyatt that would die in her arms. The fatal wounds were always different, but the dream always ended the same.

His heart would stop, and his eyes would dim, and she’d know he was gone.

She reached out, now, her hand pressing insistently against his chest and he stiffened as her fingers grasped at his shirt, her palm pressed firmly against him.

“Your heart stopped,” Lucy gasped, and Wyatt relaxed, knowing what she was doing. He laid his hand over hers, pushing it into his chest, and she felt herself calm down as she realized his heart was still beating.

“I’m here, Lucy,” he reassured her as she took deep breaths. “I’m right here,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair back from her face, his fingertips brushing her cheek. Her eyes were still watery with tears caused by the nightmare, and Wyatt tightened his fingers around hers, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and Lucy didn’t know what came over her.

It might have been the wine.

It might have been her mindset after that nightmare.

It might have been the similarities between their current position and their position in 1934.

Whatever it was, she didn’t particularly care.

She leaned forward, her hand gripping his shirt, still feeling his heartbeat under her fingertips as she tugged him closer, smashing her mouth to his. He responded immediately, his hand fitting to the back of her head, gripping her tight and pulling her impossibly closer as he licked into her mouth. She sighed, pulling him closer, pressing her body against his.

She’d thought of doing this for a very long time. Back in 1934, after she’d implored him to be open to possibilities, she’d been hoping for a repeat performance of the spectacle that had occurred earlier that night in Bonnie and Clyde’s kitchen. And there were other moments where all she wanted to do was push Wyatt up against a wall and capture his mouth with her own. The night they caught most of Rittenhouse came to mind, and she remembered why she’d waited so long to do this as the cloudy haze of alcohol began to subside.

Lucy gently pulled away, scooting back from Wyatt’s wandering hands as she placed her hands on his cheeks, making him look at her.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered into the darkness. She could feel Wyatt frown under her fingertips and she gently smoothed it away. “Not that I haven’t wanted to for a very long time, now,” she breathed, and she felt him chuckle.

In the early morning light, she could just make out the hint of a smirk on his face and she desperately wanted to throw caution to the wind, blame the alcohol, and claim his mouth once more.

But, she had to be practical.

“Rittenhouse is after me,” she explained and she could feel him tense. She allowed herself to slide closer, slinging her arms around his neck and running her fingers soothingly through his hair. She told herself it was the alcohol, and that would be what she’d tell him if he asked. But, she was 100% sober at this point. “They already know that you and Rufus are important to me as my team. I’d hate for them to target _you_ because you’re important to me as something else,” she let her voice fade as Wyatt’s arms curled around her waist, pulling her body flush against his.

“What am I important to you as, exactly?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear and sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She could hear the teasing tone in his voice and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He just wanted an ego boost.

“You’re my possibility,” she said simply and she could feel him relax as he pulled her in again, kissing her softly. Lucy sighed again, tilting her head back so he could slide his tongue between her lips, stroking hers with his own.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against her lips between kisses, and Lucy smiled as his fingers cupped the back of her head, entangling in her hair, pulling her closer.

“Wait,” she whispered, pulling away. “This is what I mean, Wyatt,” she began, gesturing between the two of them, though there wasn’t much space between them anymore as Wyatt had taken to pressing kisses against her neck instead. “They’re going to figure it out and then you’ll be in danger.” Wyatt pulled his lips away from her neck, leaning his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes.

“Lucy, don’t worry about me, okay?” he smirked, kissing her nose. “I can take care of myself. And, I’ll take care of you. We’re going to take them down and get your sister back,” Wyatt vowed and Lucy didn’t push him away when he began kissing down her jaw.

“The washer’s probably done,” Lucy whispered as he worked his way down, kissing just above her heart.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch anymore,” he growled against her skin, and Lucy happily obliged as he lifted her shirt above her head, kissing down to her belly button.

Honestly, his logic seemed so sound in the moment that Lucy couldn’t find it in her to argue.

* * *

The next day, when she realized she’d actually shrunk the cushion cover in the wash and actually _couldn’t_ sleep on the couch anymore, Wyatt had tugged her into his room, pulling out three drawers and opening the closet door. The drawers were empty and half the closet was bare.

Lucy officially moved into his room three days later.


End file.
